


destruct

by julesmpm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Relationships if you squint, i'm a little delirious after that, my brain hurts, spoilers for 8x5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18812464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julesmpm/pseuds/julesmpm
Summary: She wants to scream and cry and gag and she wants everything, for just one second, to stop.A quick piece on Arya directly after this week's episode.





	destruct

**Author's Note:**

> Ok. So.
> 
> My brain is so fried after watching and analyzing that episode, so this quick fic is the drabbles of my mind trying to come to terms with everything that's gone on. It's completely unedited and was written very quickly, so please excuse any stupid lil mistakes in there!
> 
> Also, I really did like how this episode brought Arya back to a sense of humanity which we haven't seen in a hot second, and I want to play with that more in the future. Just a thought!

She wants to scream.

 

She wants to scream and cry and gag and she wants everything, for just one second, to _stop_.

 

But she knows that she isn’t safe, isn’t truly out of immediate danger, until she’s removed herself from the once great walls of the capital.

 

So she rides, rapidly, pressing her heels into the pale horse’s sides in an attempt to increase her speed, to blur the images of pure, utter devastation on either side of her.

 

Arya Stark has seen devastation before. She has seen violence. She has shed blood.

 

She has never seen humanity fall quite like this.

 

There is dust in her ears, down her throat, covering every inch of her body, every inch of the city. She can barely breathe, barely bring herself to stay conscious and upright.

 

It feels as though every blow, every kick, every injury she has sustained has increased tenfold, and she fights to keep her eyes open, to keep her hands on the reigns.

 

By the time the horse gallops passed what can barely be described as the walls surrounding the city, she barely registers the change. Perhaps it’s the pain blossoming underneath the entire stretch of her skin, or perhaps it’s the fact that devastation has followed her out of the capital. Blood has dyed sand a dark burgundy, and it is more as though she’s riding on a carpet than on the landscape itself.

 

As soon as she does realize, though, she pulls the reigns to halt the steed and nearly crashes falling off, on all fours as she coughs up bile, dirt and whatever’s left in her stomach.

 

She can’t breathe.

 

Her nose fills with the stench of burnt bodies, already beginning to fester in the hot air, and she fights the urge to vomit again, knowing the attempt is futile.

 

Kings Landing is burning.

 

Kings Landing is burning, and she always thought that she’d be filled with glee at the sight.

 

But now, all that fills her mind are the people, the innocent citizens, running, burning, crying, yelling.

 

Her stomach curls again at the thought.

 

She was going to die today. She was going to die, was ready to die, was so close to death that she could _feel it with every fiber for her being_.

 

And then-

 

_You want to be like me?_

His words ring in her ears, elicits a dull, low moan from her gut.

 

She had been ready to die, until she had seen everyone who wasn’t get burned to the ground.

 

The children. The children _screaming_. The children pulling at their mothers, tiny hands gripping lifeless arms.

 

The children she could not save, no matter how she tried.

 

Her stomach turns once more, and she coughs, spits.

 

Who is left now?

 

Jon? She had known he was with his queen, on the ground, fighting. She would be shocked if he hadn’t been in the crossfire of the flames.

 

Sandor is gone. She doesn’t need to see his body to know. They had both known his destiny when they had separated.

 

Sansa. Bran. Gendry.

 

What she wouldn’t give to be back at Winterfell, at home, for just a single moment.

 

She wants to disappear.

 

She wants to be no one, properly no one. Oblivious to the destruction, the politics, the unnerving capacity of the human mind towards murder.

 

Perhaps in another life, she could’ve been that person.

 

That lady.

 

Perhaps she could’ve lived a life where hand-stitching a bodice would take the place of training for combat, where raising her children would take precedence over crossing names off of a list.

 

Perhaps she would be content. Happy, even.

 

But she swallows the thought in a moment.

 

She still has a duty to uphold, no matter what the circumstances.

 

She has been no one. But now, she is someone again. She is sure of it.

 

She is Arya Stark, and there is a single name left on her list.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Big oof, y'all.
> 
> I really want to write some good old fluff to combat the devastation of that episode, so I'm gonna get to that tomorrow. In the meantime, I hope you all sleep well and can breathe again after THAT.
> 
> xoxo


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